


Borte and Yeran's Wedding Night

by sarah_bae_maas



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:00:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_bae_maas/pseuds/sarah_bae_maas





	Borte and Yeran's Wedding Night

Yeran watched Borte as her hair rustled in the wind, the chill from the mountains outside creeping through the small cracks in the window she was gazing out of. Her body was draped in a woollen blanket, her cheeks pink from the cold.

He knew he shouldn’t be here, but he had to talk to her one last time. He had to make sure.

“If you’re going to stalk me you may as well entertain me. Why are you here?” she broke the silence.

He smirked. He should have known that the most talented Ruk rider would be able to tell when she wasn’t alone in a room. “I wanted to make sure that you are okay.”

She scoffed. “You’re reading too much into this. I’m perfectly fine. I’ve had a long time to prepare for this.”

His gut sank at her words. She did not sound like a woman who was going to marry the next day, nor did she sound happy about it. And Yeran – well, it didn’t matter to him what bargain they had made, or that over the years he’d been betrothed to her he’d felt nothing but love in his heart, or that she had decided during the war that his body was the one she desired. He wanted her to love him back, to not feel like she was stuck in an emotionless marriage with a man she didn’t want.

And by the Gods, did he love her. The days where he woke up next to her, could feel her warmth seeping into him, were the best of his life.

“We don’t have to go through with this,” he told her, and he meant it, even if the words made his heart ache.

She snickered. “Yes, we do. We made a deal, and I plan on sticking to it.”

He took a step forward and out of the shadows, their eyes meeting for the first time that night.

“You know how I feel for you,” he whispered. “I’ve told you many times.”

She rolled her eyes. “We were at war, I’m not going to pretend like those words meant anything. Let’s just get this over and done with, we’ve been putting it off long enough. Everyone’s here, ready and waiting.” She huffed. “Even Sartaq managed to drag himself away from his heir-ly duties.”

She stood and came close to him. He could feel her breath on his face, and she smiled when she saw him shiver. “There’s many things we could be doing right now, least of all talking.” She pressed her lips to his neck, and for the first time, he braced his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away.

“I have to go,” he stuttered before rushing from the room.

_____

 

Borte was patiently waiting in her room, her grandmother and others surrounding her. She was dressed in a traditional wedding garb, and she couldn’t wait to get this itchy thing off of her.

“Stop squirming!” The Queen of Terrasen swatted playfully at Borte. She was braiding her hair, something Houlun would have to re-do anyway in the traditional Eridun style, but Borte let the queen have her fun. “Rowan never lets me braid his hair, so I do it in his sleep.”

Borte laughed. “That would be quite the sight. Where is your husband?”

“Perranth. He sends his regards.” Aelin winked.

Borte was happy to have the queen here. She didn’t think her chances of coming were large when she sent out her invitations, but lo-and-behold here she was. And instead of bringing her husband, she brought that feisty witch-queen and her wyvern. For transport, supposedly.

Borte laughed at the look on her grandmother’s face. She was about to reply when her voice was interrupted by a knock at the door. Borte yelled for the person to enter and was surprised to see her hearth-brother standing before her.

“What are you doing here, don’t you have things to take care of with Yeran?” she asked.

“I was hoping I could speak with you quickly. In private.”

She nodded and farewelled the people in her room before stepping into the hall with Sartaq. He looked unusually grave, and she was worried something might have happened. Had one of the clans taken this as an opportunity to test their boundaries?

“What is it?”

Sartaq pulled at one of her braids affectionately. “You look really beautiful today,” he said.

“Is that what you pulled me out of my room to say?” she laughed.

He shook his head. He braced his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. “Yeran is gone. So is his ruk. I’ve been looking for him for hours but… I’m so sorry,s Borte.”

Borte tilted her head. “Huh?”

“From the looks of it, he left late last night. There’s no sign of struggle, nor signs that someone tried to cover up a fight. The master overlooking the ruks said he saw him pacing outside the aviary late last night.”

“That makes no sense. Yeran has wanted this wedding to go ahead for years. Why would he leave unless provoked?”

And then she remembered his words from the night before.

_We don’t have to do this._

Sartaq noticed her sudden change. “I’ll tell everyone something has come up. No one needs to know until we figure out what has happened.”

Borte started walking away, furiously storming down the hallways, ignoring the calls of her name. Sartaq followed her, right until she was in front of Arcus. She saddled him quickly, Sartaq remaining silent.

“What an ass. He’s always been such as ass! Oh, if he thinks for one second that his father can demand this marriage, _demand_ , and then just leave on the day of when I’ve finally accepted it? Oh no. No sir he is in for a _world_ of pain. Oh, and another thing! He comes to me, _to me_ , and is all like ‘you don’t have to do this, don’t feel obligated’ blah blah fucking blah and then he leaves? _He leaves?_ I’m going to kill him. I’m going to skin him alive and feed him to Arcus while he’s still conscious.”

“That’s not such a great idea,” Sartaq said while she climbed atop her ruk. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“I know exactly where he is,” she snarled before Arcus launched into the air.

 

_____

 

Yeran pondered over the ruins. He felt bad, but also an immense amount of relief. No matter how he felt about Borte, what his antagonism hid, he could never force her into a loveless union. He was an idiot for thinking the war had changed anything, even more of an idiot to think that the moments _before_ the war meant anything. The reckless touching, tasting, scratching, whether it be in the forest against the tree before a competition or her tent in between battles, was nothing but a moment of pleasure between two people with huge weights on their backs.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his ruk head butting him gently, reminding him he was there. He patted his feathers lightly.

That’s when he felt the smack of something hitting his back hard to make him yell in surprise.

He whipped around to see Borte flashing her teeth atop Arcus, another metal ball in her hand and aiming at him.

“You prick!” she screamed, throwing the ball at him. He ducked and wove out of the way, springing to his feet.

“What are you doing here?!”

“What am _I_ doing here? You’re the one that ran away from our wedding!”

He looked scandalized. “I thought you would be grateful!”

“Ha! Presumptuous as always!”

“Oh please, let’s not pretend like you actually wanted to be tied to me.”

Arcus swooped, Borte jumping of his back and landing in a crouch in front of Yeran. A snarl was on her face, and he raised his hands to show her that he did not have any weapons. He would not defend himself against any assault she threw at him.

“That was my choice to make, one I’m able to do on my own.”

“It looked like you weren’t going to make one. So I did, a good one. You’ll appreciate this in the long run. It will be my name that is scorned.”

“And my name that is pitied.”

“Only if you let them pity you.”

“And how do you suggest I make them not?”

“Find love. One that makes people sing songs, that you want to have grand wedding for. Be happy, so happy that people will never wonder the what-if. That you will never wonder the what-if.”

She stalked to him, stopping a hair’s length away. “And if I’ve found that already?”

Yeran’s shoulders slumped, and he smiled just slightly. “Then go to that person. You have a chance now.”

He was happy, truly, that she had found someone that she thought she could be that with. He would be upset, likely very jealous, but he would rest easy knowing that she was at peace.

She rolled her eyes.

“You are a buffoon,” she said.

“You’ve told me. Many times.”

He flinched in shock when she ran her fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ears. “But you are my buffoon.”

His brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“I am not the best with feelings that don’t involve hatred, or anger, or sadness, or revenge. I am good with those things, where it is a sword or bow in my hand rather than my heart. I didn’t think I needed to tell you how I feel, because I thought my actions did. I don’t often share my bed, but it was an open invitation to you.”

He felt like his throat was slick, inhibiting from speaking fully. He cleared his throat, but the feeling remained. “What do you feel?”

She tilted her head, the smile on her face the gentlest he had ever seen.

“I love you, Yeran. I would not say it during the war, as I believe what I told you last night. I put little stock in words that are uttered in such tense situations. But I do, I do love you.”

She pressed her lips to his cheek, wrapping her arms around him as he sunk into her.

“I never thought I would hear you say such things.”

“If you hadn’t been an idiot, you would have heard them during my vows.”

She pressed her mouth to his, the kiss as sweet as her smile and as slow as a sunset in summer.

“Come home with me,” she whispered against him. “Marry me.”

He nodded, sweeping her into another kiss, this one with more tongue and teeth.

She broke it off, her breathing heavy. “Just a fair warning, Sartaq might kill you for running away like that.”

“Fair enough.”  


End file.
